The rest of the day flew by.

Neal found the experience in the warehouse enthralling. He had to keep track of time or would find himself so caught up in the work that he didn't realize hours had passed. The challenge he had was actually making notes of his findings. To do that, he had to force himself to stop analyzing the work to move over to the computer and enter the details. He hated typing.

Forcing himself to the computer was tedious. That felt like a job. It was like the reports Peter made him write-up for punishment. A few times he found himself distracted as well, suddenly typing his own thoughts on the interpretation of the piece, which was, while interesting, not exactly going to move the case along. So he would delete that, which was also hard to do, to focus on the facts of what would drive a next step in this investigation.

But caught deep in the analysis of a painting itself, he found it disparaging to have to remember to stop and document his findings.

If Peter was here, he could just tell him and keep going.

He made a mental note to ask Peter if he could make a recording instead. He could vocalize his findings and maybe someone else could type it up.

Until then, he was stuck with the current process that day and continued to force himself to make detailed notes in the computer himself.

Just before five, he returned to the office as instructed. That's when it really felt like the case was officially kicking off. There was a briefing on the plans for that evening, including Hughes. It went surprisingly quickly as they recapped Neal's target and the approach, followed by the unceremonious removal of his anklet.

And then it was official. He was going undercover. No turning back.

However, later that evening, Neal felt slightly nervous before officially embracing his undercover routine.

He was so close, yet sitting on his new bike, a black Triumph that he was absolutely in love with and in debt to Mozzie for, he was deep in thought. He was only two blocks away from the East Village bar that would potentially become his new line of evening employment for the foreseeable future.

He always felt a little jittery before a gig like this. Usually it was a good feeling because it was mostly excitement and adrenaline and an urge to lose himself in another identity. It was also an opportunity to prove himself, what he was capable of, and what value he could contribute. It didn't come without risk, because there were always elements that were unknown, so there was always that subdued feeling of hesitation as well.

But tonight was different. It was all those usual feelings but also a trepidation that ran deeper.

He glanced down at the FBI model watch on his wrist. He knew he could turn it on and off by simply pressing the button on the side. It was currently off. He was supposed to turn it on when he arrived at the bar. He was debating whether to 'forget' to do that, though he'd been reminded multiple times, even by Hughes, to make sure he didn't. He knew that it also provided Peter and team his location without pressing anything. He assumed that they were back at the office likely watching precisely where he was and anticipating the audio.

If he didn't turn it on tonight, it would cover up the introduction with Jason. They wouldn't hear that it was a reconnection rather than a new meeting. He rationalized that they didn't need to record the introductions anyway. They needed the future conversations where illicit activity was mentioned in detail. Introductions weren't going to make any charges stick.

He wondered if the reaction he'd get to 'forgetting' to turn it on would be more manageable than the reaction when they realized he knew him.

The truth was, even post-introduction, there was a strong chance during the case that Jason, or he, would reference something from their previous activity together. That was kind of the whole point he was targeting Jason, after all. And he couldn't turn the damn watch off and on every time that happened. Well, he could try but…. No, it wasn't manageable.

So they were going to find out his secret no matter what.

He glanced down at his ankle. While it was hidden by his jeans, it felt bare without the usual weight of the anklet. He flexed his ankle gently, annoyed that the device had become such a normal feeling to have on his body that its absence was noticed. It felt good to be dressed more casually in a black t-shirt and jeans, and to be someone else for a little while, not Neal. But sans anklet gave him a mixed feeling.

He was also a bit nervous to see Jason again. The man was a little intimidating. While Neal had never actually had a problem with him, since he'd always delivered what they wanted and on time, he'd heard stories, and now also had the FBI's commentary on his suspected involvement in other activities as well. He thought he'd left on good terms with the man, but it was nearly a decade ago. They'd both been through a lot since their last meeting.

He was pretty sure Jason would recognize him right away. And that's what made him most uneasy. He was going to get a lot of questions. And he wasn't sure yet how to respond to them.

He didn't care much what Jones and Diana thought. It was Peter. Peter was going to ask why he didn't tell him beforehand. He was going to ask with that look. And Neal wasn't going to have a good answer.

Neal cursed softly under his breath, eyeing the bulk of the bike underneath him with a sigh. He imagined revving up the engine again and just hitting the road, never to look back, tossing the watch down into the sewer. Wind in his hair, cool night breeze surrounding him, real future ahead of him.

Real future? What was that? What did that even mean?

No. No, he couldn't do that. Besides, he'd probably be caught and then it would be back to prison. Peter always found him. And at that point, no second chances. Besides, wouldn't that have technically been a third or fourth chance?

He dismissed the idea while admiring the bike with a sigh.

Today had been so good too. Peter had smiled at him in the warehouse, told him he'd done a good job, and confirmed to him how important his undercover role was. Neal had felt proud. It was a much better conversation than most of those from the past couple days, where he was mostly barked at for not following rules.

The bar was just two blocks away. He needed to get over there soon. But he also knew he needed to try to make things right before he made any other movements on the case. Otherwise it'd be worse than it already was.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled up his recent calls.

Peter. He had to call him.

His hand wavered, fingertips lingering just shy of the call button.

He took a deep breath, glancing down the street, at the cars and taxis passing by the streetlamp lit street. There wasn't much pedestrian traffic on this part of the block except for halfway down where there was a bar with patrons lingering outside to smoke.

He felt anxiety from his core to his fingertips. He told himself to shake it off. He'd done much worse. This was just a disclosure discrepancy. He hadn't done anything.

He pressed call and lifted the phone to his ear.

Peter answered after just two rings. "Hey, Neal."

Neal hesitated. Peter's voice suddenly made him panic further. What the hell was he doing?

He pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment, and then considered disconnecting the call.

But he had to do this. It was the only way.

He forced himself to resume course, and put the phone back to his ear.

"Neal?" Peter was asking. "You there?"

"I'm here," Neal answered slowly, voice monotone.

"You're close to the bar."

"Yeah."

Peter paused. Neal could almost feel him frowning through the phone. "You okay?" Peter asked.

"I'm okay," Neal answered slowly. He glanced down the street again, the phone feeling heavy in his hands. He took a deep breath.

"We've got your tracking data up, Neal. You haven't moved in a while. Is there traffic?"

What a ludicrous question, Neal thought. "Peter, there's never traffic when you're on a bike."

"Of course," Peter answered sarcastically. "Okay. Then why are you sitting there?"

"Peter. I have to tell you something."

"I'm listening," Peter said, voice a little skeptical.

"Before I tell you, I need you to promise that you'll listen to me, and hear me out," Neal continued. "I need to tell you this now, but you can't get upset, because I need to be in that bar in the next fifteen minutes."

"What?" Peter paused. "What do you mean, Neal?" Peter sounded slightly exasperated. "Why would I get upset? Did you do something?"

"Promise me."

There was a sound of frustrated breath being exhaled. "You know I can't make that promise. We don't lie, remember? Now what is it?" Peter persisted.

Neal bit his lip, taking another deep breath though he found it wasn't helping to calm his nerves. "We don't lie," he agreed. "And that's why I'm telling you this now, because I didn't want you to find out and then ask me why I didn't tell you first."

"Tell me what, Neal?" Peter's tone was wary.

"You'd find this out in the next twenty minutes anyway," Neal continued. "But I'm telling you first." He ran his free hand distractedly over the shiny handlebars of the bike. "And in reality, if you think about it, this kind of gives us a real edge in this case. An edge in that I might not even need this job after all."

"What does that mean? Spit it out, Caffrey," Peter responded, an edge to his tone. "What the hell are you getting at?"

Neal hesitated, given Peter's switch to his last name. Usually Peter only did that when he was really at the end of his rope. When Neal heard his name like that from Peter was when he knew to physically distance himself from the wrath that was ready to be unleashed. And Neal hadn't even told him yet. After the last few days, he was sure Peter was speculating what this could possibly be about. But Neal was too far in at this point to switch tactics, and Peter was going to find out about this anyway, one way or another. Better to find out from Neal offering the truth than indirectly. That Neal was certain of.

"Neal…" came Peter's voice came over the line after a moment passed with no response. Back to his first name, but tone warning. "Either tell me or hang up. And I'm thinking you better tell me."

"I know Jason," Neal admitted quickly. There. It was out. The truth. Released to the open.

There was a pause. The silence on the line cut through Neal and he shuddered. He wished he could see Peter's face. But maybe not. Maybe he didn't want to. Then Peter responded with a lowered voice, asking icily, "What did you just say?"

"I know him," Neal said. "He knows me. I used to work for him. It's been ten years, but—"

"What the hell, Neal –"

"No, I need to finish. Let me tell you. It was almost ten years ago." Neal forced the words out quickly, trying to prevent himself from being interrupted by that angry voice. He didn't have time for the reaction. He didn't want it. He just wanted to make sure Peter knew. "We did the same thing they're doing now. And I didn't know at first that I would know someone in this case, I promise I didn't, not when we first started. Except their MO obviously sounded extremely familiar, but hey - it's not like they're the only ones that do this. And I never met Messier. I never met him even once. And I only realized Jason was the same guy, even though his old name wasn't McDonald, only once I saw the pictures and –"

"Come back to the office. Now."

Neal hesitated, slightly startled by the tone of Peter's voice. "No," he objected, voice rising slightly. "No. I can't. Peter, we have to do this. It's perfect. I didn't want you finding out when he recognizes me, and I realized I should tell you before –"

"No, Neal. You should have told me the moment you knew. Not five minutes before you're going undercover. Now this doesn't happen. Come back to the office. You're done."

Done? What? Neal's thoughts turned frantic. "No," he insisted. His pulse raced. Peter's tone was livid. "This will work, Peter." He wondered whether Peter finding out through Jason simply recognizing him would have been a better or worse approach. "I know that this will work."

"I just gave you a direct order."

"No! You have to listen."

"Neal, no, I don't. You listen to me... If you disobey me, I will come there. And I will physically get you. And when I get my hands on you—"

"No, Peter! Please. You have to understand," Neal continued, feeling slightly desperate. He knew telling Peter was the right thing but he now struggled to articulate himself to fight his case. "I can do this. When you said that maybe I would know someone, and maybe I'd be able to make a connection, you were right. I can! This is the connection. You said this morning my role was more important than ever. If I can—"

"No. Dammit, Neal. You're not –"

"I am! I'm doing this, Peter," Neal interrupted, speaking conclusively and raising his voice. "And I meant what I said yesterday. You won't regret this. I'm doing this for you. Trust me."

With that, Neal disconnected the call. He then powered down his phone. Having completed that communication he needed, he swallowed back the rest of his trepidation, swung his leg over the bike, and started walking towards the bar. He took a deep breath and held his head high.

Back at the office, set up in the conference room with surveillance equipment ready to listen-in on the undercover event, Peter swore out loud. "Fuck!" he shouted as he quickly tried to dial out a call from his cell phone. When it didn't go through and simply went to voicemail, he tried desperately again. When it failed once more, he cursed again and without even thinking threw his phone across the room. It landed with a thud on the carpet about ten feet away.

Jones and Diana stared at him in silence, watching as Peter stalked across the room, pacing angrily, hands on his hips, face reddening. It was rare that Peter appeared so angry. He got angry, sure, but normally it was more of a quiet, stewing anger than anything exhibited to the team so viscerally.

"Boss?" Diana asked slowly, almost hesitantly. They'd overheard the one side of the conversation, but were left trying to figure out what message had been delivered to get their supervisor so worked up.

Peter turned and looked at his two agents, shaking his head in frustration as they stared back in confusion. "When Caffrey is back," he said slowly, tone menacing, "you two are going to need to make sure I don't actually beat him to death. Because this time I might."

"What happened?" Jones asked with a frown.

Peter couldn't hide his irritation. "So he knows Jason." He threw his hands up in exasperation. "He actually knows Jason."

"Wait, what? He knows him?" Diana repeated, surprised. "We've literally had the guy's face on the wall for days. Why didn't he say anything?"

"Why would he?" Peter answered sardonically, voice laced with irritation. "Why the hell would he ever offer that information?" He exhaled harshly. "God dammit."

"How does he know him?" Jones asked, a little more patiently.

"He said he used to work for him," Peter responded stiffly. "Shit." He ran his hands over his face. "I knew something was off with him and this case. God dammit. I knew it. I should have pushed harder."

"So if he knows him…" Diana started. "Does he know Messier too?"

"He claims not to. And I don't know why he'd lie about that if he's telling me this."

"When did he work for him?"

Before they could say anything else, the surveillance equipment suddenly boomed out with noise. Neal had activated the microphone in his watch as instructed. Jones got up from his set to walk to the other end of the table, adjusting the volume on the equipment to a reasonable level, and they all stared at the equipment as the sound of 80s rock music, presumably from the bar, radiated over the speakers.

There was a lot of background noise, typical sounds of glasses clinking and scattered voices over the music.

"So what are you going to do?" Diana asked, looking over at her fuming boss, who was glaring intently at the equipment. "Are you going to let him make contact?"

"How can I not? I'm not going to make it there in time to prevent it," Peter responded disdainfully. "And he knows that." He clenched his fists together. "Dammit, Neal."

"Julie," Neal said simply, repeating the manager's name with a smile. She was a mid-thirties woman, sporting jet black short hair, a tight black tank top and even tighter jeans. A nose ring complemented the series of earrings shining in each lobe.

She smiled back. "Yeah, that's me."

"I'm Willy." Neal continued to smile as he shook her hand. "My friend told me you were looking to get someone else behind the bar. He said he spoke to you directly. Ethan? I'm looking for something at night to make some extra cash."

"Yeah, we spoke. We've been looking for some extra help most nights. We had a guy that left a few weeks ago." She made a face. "Moved to California."

"That's perfect," Neal responded. Coincidentally perfect. "I'd love to help any nights I could."

She nodded. "Ethan told me about your background. With your experience, Willy, it seems like a good match. One thing he didn't say – When can you start?"

"Uh, right now?" he smirked. "I can start whenever you need the help." He played a role of cool confidence, all the while a small worry playing in the back of his mind that Peter might actually carry through his threat and come tearing through the door to drag him out like a child. But he was pretty certain Peter would suppress that temptation to avoid screwing up the case. Plus it would take him at least thirty minutes to even get here if he did intend to do it.

He'd have to deal with him later. And Neal was dreading that interaction, but trying to push it behind a facade of Willy.

"That's great." She cocked her head to the side, smiling at him. "Good. Let's treat tonight as a trial run and then you and I can talk details. The regular crowd usually tends to arrive in the next hour or so." She paused. "Usually it's just me behind the bar… And I can take it, but it would be a huge help to have another set of hands around here so I can, you know, actually run this place."

"Sounds good," Neal answered with a nod. Mozzie had done his part the day before, ironing out the details and laying in a more than robust word.

"I assume you know how to run the till."

"Of course," Neal affirmed, nodding confidently.

"Good."

It was almost too easy, Neal thought moments later when he made himself comfortable behind the bar. Then again, good help was hard to come by.

It wasn't too busy yet and most of the patrons already had drinks. Thirty minutes into the role, he was feeling natural at the part, and realized the cash tips were a nice supplement to the gig. The usual crowd here seemed to prefer a draft craft brew over a mixed cocktail, so the work itself was minimal so far. Which bothered him slightly, as he needed a distraction from his fear of Peter, and he wasn't getting that yet.

It was a standard place. Nothing fancy, nothing too dingy either. Lighting was subdued enough, and music was at a volume where you could chose to have or not have a conversation comfortably.

While he tried to focus on the role, the admission he'd just made to Peter weighed heavily in his mind. Jason wasn't here, at least yet, and Neal was starting to wonder if he'd opened up a bit prematurely. At some point, Peter was going to find out, and yes, it was probably better he told him directly, but even one more day of planning his words more thoughtfully could have been beneficial. But he couldn't have predicted how the night would go, and getting that truth off his chest and offering it to Peter was just the right thing.

He hadn't lied. He simply hadn't offered all the truth upfront.

No one had directly asked him if he knew any of the people being investigated.

Well, Peter had asked him if he knew Messier. So that was a direct request. But he'd answered truthfully. He didn't know that particular person.

So none of it was untrue.

He just wasn't sure Peter would see it that way.

The turned off phone in his pocket felt like a heavy weight.

But he also felt deep down that telling him had been the right thing to do. It had to count for something.

He knew he had to get his head in the game. He couldn't be lost in these thoughts and discussions that hadn't happened yet.

Pretty soon, it didn't matter what was on his mind as he was forced to be in the game.

Because thirty minutes later, Jason was at the bar.

Neal noticed him the moment he pushed through the doors at the entrance of the bar and took himself into the darkened space from the street. He tried not to stare at him directly as he took in the appearance of his old acquaintance.

Jason was tall. A good couple inches over six feet, and he was a bulky guy too. He worked out a lot, lifting weights. Neal remembered being in his home just one time and getting a glimpse at the gym he kept in a room most others would have converted to an office. He said it was his outlet for stress relief.

His hair was graying a lot more than it was a decade ago. His face had aged slightly, with fine lines around his eyes and forehead, but he wore the same dark expression and mysterious eyes.

Neal busied himself with a small washcloth, wiping off the top of the bar in front of him, erasing invisible stains. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jason approaching, and he felt a small rush.

"You're new," Jason said gruffly as he slowly took one of the empty barstools in front of Neal as his seat. There was an empty seat beside him, and then three younger patrons that Neal had just poured beer for several minutes ago. "Where's Jules?"

Neal looked up and met his eye, offering a friendly smile. Jason's voice was low, and rough, like a smoker's. Just like he remembered. "She's around," he offered with a casual shrug. "She needed an extra set of hands, and I needed an extra chance to make some dough."

Jason cocked his head to the side, studying Neal carefully. He rested his hands on the bar in front of him, interlacing his fingers. "I'll take a Talisker. Neat."

"Ten or eighteen?" Neal asked.

"Eighteen." Jason continued to look attentively at him. He paused just for a moment. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

Neal turned his back briefly, reaching to grab the nearly two-decade-old scotch from the shelf. He was relieved to know Jason's drink preference hadn't changed. Maybe that meant other habits were still in place as well.

"I don't know," Neal said, forcing a thoughtful tone. He turned back and grabbed a glass tumbler from below the bar gracefully. "I get around a lot. Just got back to New York recently."

"Yeah…. I do know you…" Jason said slowly, watching Neal pour his drink. "Definitely I do."

"You know, now that you say it, you do look a bit familiar," Neal said, non-committedly. He was a little nervous as Jason worked through the recognition but tried not to show it. He pushed the drink across the bar to the man.

"I never forget a face," Jason said. "Especially with those eyes. You're… Bill, or Billy?" He took a small sip from the tumbler before returning the glass to the bar.

"Willy," Neal corrected with a small smile. "Good memory."

"I'm Jason. This was probably about ten years ago," Jason continued, frowning slightly. "You remember? You did some work for me…"

Neal forced a pensive look, brow furrowing as he gazed across the bar at the other man. Then after a few seconds passed, he allowed some recognition to cross his face. "Oh, yeah!" he said with a nod. "Absolutely. That was a long time ago."

"Probably feels that way to you," Jason said sarcastically. "You were real young then. You still look young."

Neal shrugged. "A lot has happened in ten years."

"I remember you were a big help then. Got us out of some tight times." Jason paused and picked up his drink again. "And better yet, you always kept your mouth shut. What've you been up to? You still in the game?"

"Uh, yeah… I mean, I've been doing whatever comes my way…" Neal said slowly. "A little of this… A little of that. Not always in New York." He hesitated but had to know. "Whatever happened?" he asked quizzically. "Back then?"

"What do you mean?" Jason frowned.

"Just…" Neal paused. On one hand he hesitated because he knew the microphone was on. He knew Peter and the team were listening. And he also hesitated because he didn't want to pry into Jason's thoughts too much just yet. But he had to know. "One day, it just kind of ended, right? And I went back over there. To the shop. Like a few months later, and you were gone."

"Yeah." Jason looked more thoughtful than bothered by the question. "All good things have to come to an end at some point. We were starting to get a little too much attention. So we left the city for a little while."

Neal nodded, wondering who it was that was giving them too much attention back then. And wondering if 'we' included Messier.

"What else are you up to these days?" Jason asked Neal more pointedly, redirecting the conversation.

"Just whatever can make me some cash," Neal answered with a shrug. He waved his hand to gesture at the bar. "Like this."

"This…. This is a waste of your time, kid," Jason said with a critical look. "I mean, I love Jules and her bar, and no offense, 'cause someone's gotta pour people like me a drink. But I know what you're capable of. Why would you bartend?"

"It's easy cash."

"There's other easy cash. You know that." Jason took a sip of the scotch and let out a deep breath. "Especially for you."

"Those jobs aren't always easy to come by," Neal said simply. "I do what I can, but at the end of the day, I just gotta pay the bills."

Jason nodded. "Yeah, I get it. I do." With a hand wrapped around his glass, he continued to look at Neal thoughtfully. "You in New York for good now?"

"Yeah." Neal nodded. "Time being anyway." He was about to add another comment when a whistle from the other end of the bar caught his attention. He looked over and saw another man looking to catch his eye to order a drink. He glanced back at Jason.

"Go do your job," Jason said dismissively, waving a hand. "But then let's talk. I might need some help. If you're still into that kind of stuff."

Neal smiled, nodded slightly. "I am."

"Good."